


The Beginning

by matchynishi



Category: EXO (Band), NCT (Band), SHINee, SuperM (Korea Band), WAYV
Genre: Flirting, M/M, Ratings may change, but the undercurrents are sometimes overt currents ykwim, but with mystery!, idk yet about any pairings, lots of flirting, not trying to be explicit because SuperM canon, pls forgive me, unbetaed, we'll see what develops as i write lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2020-12-24 11:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matchynishi/pseuds/matchynishi
Summary: An attempt to interweave the world behind the SuperM individual trailers; with canon powers and potential explanations.Or; Making sense of the teasers using fic.Chapter 1- Baekhyun. Chapter 2- Taeyong. Chapter 3- Ten. Chapter 4- Mark. Chapter 5- Lucas. Chapter 6- Jongin. Chapter 7- Taemin.





	1. Baekhyun

“How long will you keep doing this?”

Baekhyun starts but resolutely doesn’t turn around, keeping his eyes fixed on the printout in front of him. Shit. He wonders how long Taemin had been there, what he’d seen, and curses himself for being so unaware of his own surroundings that he’d not even heard Taemin walk in. 

“As long as I need to.” He exhales slowly. “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve told you, can’t you just-”

“I’ll stop if you look me in the eyes and tell me you’ve learned anything new in the last few months you didn’t already know before.”

Baekhyun firms his jaw but remains silent. Taemin had always noticed too much, but he isn’t saying anything that hasn’t been circulating in Baekhyun’s own mind, after all. He feels a wave of exhaustion coursing through him and finally turns around, fixing his eyes on the figure leaning against the wall.

“Look,” he tries, slumping into the stool. “I can’t let myself into society without making sure I don’t accidentally hurt anyone, you know I can’t.”

Taemin raises his brows. “Hyung,” he says, voice turning teasing, and Baekhyun already knows he won’t be able to handle the shit that’s undoubtedly about to come out of Taemin’s pretty mouth, and he’s proven right in short order. “I’m sure if you wanted to hurt anyone, it’ll be very precise and deliberate. And I don’t mean the laptop you keep frying on a monthly basis because you don’t like what it shows you, either.”

Baekhryun feels his face flush a dull red. “That was _not_ what I meant.”

“That time you blinded me I couldn’t see straight for two hours, you know,” Taemin continues, tone reproachful, and Baekhyun is not ready to feel bad, that was Taemin’s own damn fault, he’d _warned_ him! But-

“Exactly!” Baekhyun snaps, “I lost control, and look what happened!”

Taemin smiles, and really, the guy has no right to look that smug about an injury Baekhyun had dealt on _him_. 

“Hyung,” he says, slowly. “You lost your temper, after like five hours of me trying my best to make you do so-”

“I knew it, you fucking asshole!”

“-And you stopped me by deflecting a precisely directed light ray right into my retinas, and wielded tightly enough that you only did as much temporary damage as you intended.” Taemin teases, clearly trying to lighten the mood. “And don’t tell me you didn’t want to be annoying about it, too, when you knew what I was going to be doing that evening.” 

Baekhyun exhales. Well, that was true. But then Taemin had canceled his plans of stalking whoever else he was going to bother that evening, and proceeded to stay and annoy him back as revenge. He’d taken shameless advantage of Baekhyun’s remorse to have him cook everything him he wanted, especially when he’d used his temporary blindness to have Baekhyun _hand-feed_ him. 

Still, though. Nobody deserved to have to wait hand and foot on Taemin, but it _was_ Baekhyun’s own damn fault.

Taemin steps closer, and his gaze is too soft, and Baekhyun doesn’t deserve the understanding in his eyes, not after he’d deliberately managed to hurt someone he considers one of his closest friends.

“Hyung,” he says, and smiles a little. “You didn’t even give me a headache. I would say that’s the complete opposite of ‘losing control’, wouldn’t you agree?”

Baekhyun scoffs and looks away. Baekhyun knows how to deal with Taemin for the most part, even when he’s being utterly impossible, but he doensn’t have much defenses against him when Taemin starts being sincere. It’s something he suspects Taemin already knows. He tries not to continue that thought, because he doesn’t want to think of more weapons Taemin can use against him.

“Look,” he finally says, crossing his arms. “What do you want me to do? Walk out and start blinding everyone who annoys me?” 

He knows by the gleam of Taemin’s eyes that Taemin already thinks he’s won, because Baekhyun hadn’t ever let their ongoing debate get this far.

“Well, if you really want to,” Taemin says lightly, and before Baekhyun can do more than growl, continues. “But I’ll settle for you actually start using your power properly, and I don’t mean the trickles you let yourself have for whatever useless test you devise that you already knew the answer for.”

“They weren’t useless!” Baekhyun retorts, heated.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Taemin agrees peaceably, and Baekhyun itches to send another beam of light to his laughing eyes. 

“Besides, hyung,” Taemin continues, posture rather offensively relaxed. “If, by some miracle, you actually let yourself lose control, do you really think I wouldn’t be able to stop you?”

Baekhyun narrows his eyes. “You promised me you wouldn’t ever do the tie thing again.”

“And I won’t,” Taemin nods, raises an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll just drop a car on you.”

Baekhyun scoffs. “Jongin would save me.”

Taemin huffs. “Well, maybe I’ll drop a car on _him_, then.”

Baekhyun tries not to laugh, but he can’t stop a smile from breaking out. “Still mad he left, huh?”

“I’m not mad he left,” Taemin insists. “He can soul-search or hide or do whatever he wants to do, I’m not stopping him.” He purses his lips. “It’s just… it’s been years, hyung. He couldn’t have left a message with one of us, at any point?”

“Maybe he lost his phone,” Baekhyun says, snickering. Both of them know it’s not out of the norm at all. Taemin rolls his eyes, but says nothing.

Baekhyun stretches and slides out of the stool, starts tidying up a bit. “Look, he probably knows you’d reach him if you need him. He knows about what you can do, he’s had a prime seat from when you were what, five?”

“Six,” Taemin says sullenly. “And that’s not the point.”

“Of course it is.” Baekhyun sighs as he powers down his computer. “As much as you quibble, he trusts you. And you trust him.” He sighs. “Though if you really do want to drop a car on him…”

Taemin brightens.

After all, Baekhyun didn’t have any means of contacting Jongin, no matter what Taemin did or didn’t do. And maybe if Jongin hadn’t chosen to disappear off the face of the earth, Baekhyun wouldn’t have spiraled so much he’d needed _Taemin_’s random appearances to keep his sanity. Unfair of Baekhyun, perhaps, but no-one knows more than Jongin just how petty Baekhyun can be.

Baekhyun stops and takes a deep breath when he realizes the turn his thoughts have taken. He wonders just when he’d unconsciously made his decision, and whether Taemin’s visit was the reason, or merely an excuse that he’d been waiting for.

He stills for a long moment, then nods sharply to himself, before turning around and meeting Taemin’s eyes. “Come back in five days. I need to take the time to shut this place down properly.”

Taemin, to his credit, doesn’t do anything as obviously uncultured as whoop in glee, but the celebratory glint in his eyes is unfortunately too familiar, even as he tilts his head in acquiescence and turns to leave. Baekhyun watches him get completely out of sight before he lets himself relax the mental constraints he’s put on himself. 

Because this time, when he puts a neat hole in the goddamn laptop, it’s going to be deliberate and satisfying and for the first time, he intends to truly _enjoy it_.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel each member teaser was a summary of their own superhero journey - SuperM's version of the individual Marvel movies. And the MV was their first 'mission' as a group.
> 
> Or something. asldkjf. 
> 
> I mean. Baekhyun, to me, seemed to be trying to understand himself and his abilities by hooking himself up in a windowless lab... let me know what you think! :)


	2. Taeyong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taeyong has a feeling about this one customer that comes in from time to time.
> 
> He just hasn't decided if it's good, or bad yet.

Taeyong sighs as he wipes down the bar for the third time in the past five minutes. It’s been slow the past few days, and he’s been… antsy. He flicks a glance at the clock, and god, has it really only been two minutes since he’d last checked it? He has almost four more hours to go, and if somebody doesn’t come in soon to stave off his boredom, he’s going to- no, better to stop that kind of thinking right there. Better to think of less dangerous coping methods, like, oh, maybe start making drinks for himself, he’d certainly be happier if he was tipsy.

“It’s fine if you want to, right?”

Taeyong starts and looks up. He stares. Seated on the bar stool right in front of him is one of the most arresting men he’s ever seen. And since he’s been working at the bar for a few years already, and has met a vast number of extremely attractive people, that’s saying something. 

The man is blonde, fair and his pale eyes reflect the glow of the dim red-green lights around the bar. But it’s not just his looks that has Taeyong stunned. There’s something about him, something familiar… though Taeyong’s a hundred per cent sure he’s never seen him before in his life. 

“S-sorry?” he stutters, belatedly realizing he’s been staring.

The man smiles, a sideways quirk of his full lips and nods towards the bottles lined up behind Taeyong. “You looked like you were trying to decide which to get at first.”

Taeyong is startled into a laugh, despite himself. “You wouldn’t be wrong,” he admits. “I try not to, though, when I’m on the clock.”

“Ah,” the man replies. “A man of integrity. Good to know.”

Taeyong tries not to wince, and laughs weakly instead. “What can I get you?” he says, a bit faster than usual. Not that he’s obvious about changing the subject, or anything.

The stranger looks at Taeyong for a long moment, but then leans back, perfectly at ease. “Surprise me.”

Taeyong raises his eyebrows. “You sure?”

“Mm,” the man shrugs elegantly. “We’ll have to see if you get it right.”

Taeyong smirks. “How do you know I’d try? Maybe I’ll give you one of the overly sweet fruity cocktails with an umbrella in it.”

He gets a laugh in response. “You’re a man of integrity, though, right, Taeyong?” the man asks, eyes glinting. Taeyong’s breath hitches for no reason, but then the man laughs and the tension is broken. “Besides,” he says, resting his face on his palm, still smiling, “I like umbrellas.”

Taeyong stares for just a moment too long. His name’s pinned right there on his shirt, and it’s there for a reason. It doesn’t matter that this guy’s weirdly informal, he’s heard so much worse. Even if there’s something about the guy that kinda gets to him, like he’s laughing at a joke no-one else can hear. Taeyong shakes himself out of it and starts getting the glasses when he hesitates and turns back.

“Could I ask you your name?”

The smile widens. “You could. Should I give it?”

“You know mine,” Taeyong points out.

“True,” the man agrees, and his smile turns sly. “Maybe I’ll consider it if you get me a good drink.”

Taeyong squints suspiciously and just gets another laugh in response. “I have full confidence in you,” he says, and Taeyong is once again struck by the strange feeling that there’s something more being said that he can’t quite understand.

At least he manages to get his name in the end.

\--

Taemin turns up at random, sometimes in the early morning hours and sometimes in the evening, but every time it’s during Taeyong’s shift. Taeyong hadn’t realized it until he briefly mentions him to Johnny, who has the job on the nights Taeyong’s off, and realizes Johnny has no idea who he’s talking about.

It’s fine, though. Taemin seems to be a little strange, but it’s nothing Taeyong can’t handle.

And he does have fun thinking of the next drink he can try on the guy. He’s not disappointed Taemin yet.

And sometimes, he doesn’t know how; but just having Taemin present distracts him; especially on his bad days. On days when he almost can’t handle himself, when he thinks he might just vibrate out of his skin, he’ll look up and see calm blue-grey eyes staring back at him and instantly feel more settled.

After a couple of months, it’s almost a pavlovian response, and Taeyong doesn’t quite know if it’s something he did to himself, some weird self-psychology shit, or what. He’s morbid enough to get amused at himself, though, fixating on some random stranger he doesn’t know anything about, and doesn’t know anything about _him_.

Well, he hopes.

Though sometimes, Taemin drops comments that leave him frozen, though he’s sure it’s mostly his paranoia acting up, which is habitual at this point.

Taemin had murmured something appreciative over his drink on a night that was busier than normal, and Taeyong had covered a double shift for Johnny. He’d left Taeyong mostly alone that night, given an understanding smile when Taeyong had finally gone over to him next, and teased him about his dark circles, which Taeyong had laughed off.

“Times like this, feels like you need your extra pair of hands, hmm?”

Taeyong looks up sharply. “Sorry?”

Taemin leisurely sips his drink and sends him a slanted look over the glass. “Asking for help isn’t always a bad idea, you know. Looks like you need some.”

Taeyong inhales. “I’ll be okay,” he insists. He must’ve heard wrong, is all. “Working this closely with someone else doing this job would cramp my style.”

Taemin finishes his drink and stands up, placing a bill on the counter. “Oh, I didn’t mean you should work with anyone _else_,” he says with a smirk, and walks away without a second glance.

Taeyong’s heart starts beating full gallop, and god, he’s sure he’s overreacting, he hasn’t done anything to blow his cover in ages, he knows it. He’s overreacting. Taemin didn’t really say anything that could be… misconstrued. It’s just his paranoia.

He’s still wary the next time Taemin shows up. 

It results in him being awkward, his movements stiff and uncooperative fingers fumbling the glasses. It’s luckily slow that night, or he’s sure to have been called out for it. 

He’s fixing Taemin’s second drink, deliberately keeping his eyes down despite Taemin being the only one at the bar, when his nervousness acts up again and he drops the bottle.

He’s slow to react, hands too slow to grasp at the falling bottle, and cringes internally, listening in resignation to the inevitable sound of breaking glass, confused when it never comes.

He opens eyes he didn’t realize he’d closed, and looks down. There’s nothing on the floor. No broken glass. No spilt alocohol. Taeyong blinks dazedly. There’s still nothing. The floor is pristine as always. 

_What…_

He looks up at the sound of a bottle being unscrewed, and stares.

Taemin is leisurely pouring the alcohol from the bottle _he’d just dropped, oh god what the fuck_, and Taeyong can’t do anything but stare, hypnotized, as the liquid sloshes into the glass.

Taemin replaces the bottlecap, pushes the bottle away. “Take care this time,” he murmurs, his smile hidden under the curve of the glass as he raises it to drink.

Taeyong doesn’t remember much of the ensuing evening, only that Taemin had left between a blink and the next, before Taeyong could unglue his tongue from his mouth, leaving the half-full bottle behind on the counter, the glass glinting almost mockingly under the lights.

The bottle that’s sitting in the middle of the little table in his little apartment, with Taeyong slumped on his ratty couch staring at it. It had taken him an unreasonably long time to step over to touch it after Taemin had left, an almost superstitious fear thrilling through him.

But the glass had felt cool and solid in his palms, had felt reassuringly normal. 

He’s had so many thoughts rushing through his head ever since then he couldn’t sleep properly over the past few days. He feels it all - nervousness, fear, but most of all, elation that he isn’t alone. Someone else sees him, and he’s sure now - Taemin is like him, somehow. He’s never really felt that before, a feeling that had worked to separate him from even his family, something he’d tried to ignore ever since he’d made a bunch of mistakes trying to belong with people he’d never fit with. He’d sworn to himself that he’d never be that person again, that he’d never get so desperate for validation that he’d ignore sense and morals for a fleeting, fake sense of belonging. 

But with Taemin, it’s different. _He’s_ different. He’s never really asked Taeyong for anything - well, other than his drink choices - in all this time. Taeyong feels an almost unconscious relaxation in his presence, both mental and physical. He doesn’t know if it’s deliberate or not, but he wants to know.__

_ __ _

_ __ _

The rain hitting the window distracts him, and he gets up to close the window, still distracted. The streets are deserted, not unusual considering the shitty weather, and his eyes fall on a black umbrella, a slight figure under it walking away down the street. 

He stills for only a moment, mind racing, before grabbing his keys and running. 

He’s on the first floor, and he takes the stairs three at a time, taking the little side street that takes him to the main road, and part of him thinks this is crazy. No, it _is_ crazy, and he doesn’t even know why he’s careening down the goddamn road in just his hoodie in the pouring rain, running after someone who probably isn’t the person Taeyong desperately is hoping for. 

Hoping for _what_, Taeyong isn’t sure of. He doesn’t even know what he wants to say to Taemin, or if the person he’s chasing is even him. 

The umbrella bobs in front of him, and he runs, heedless of the water soaking into his shoes and clothes. He slows down when he’s close, panting, and the figure in front turns around. 

His heart stutters when he sees the familiar blond hair. The umbrella is bright on the underside, a print of a flower almost in the exact shade of Taemin’s eyes. 

They stare at each other, frozen in a little tableau, till Taemin clucks his tongue and tilts his head in invitation, moving the umbrella slightly towards Taeyong. 

Taeyong is still panting a bit, but walks forward on unsteady legs without hesitation to duck under the offered shelter. Taemin turns back around and starts walking. 

They walk together in silence before Taeyong settles his thoughts. 

“Why are you here?” he asks, eyes resolutely fixed on the road ahead and not his companion, but he can still sense the raised eyebrow he gets in response. “Did you know I lived here?” 

“Me?” There’s a laugh in Taemin’s voice. “You’re the one running after me in the rain.” 

Taeyong slides a sideways glance at him. “You know what I mean, hyung.” 

Taemin shrugs, still smiling. “You’re not the only one I keep an eye on.”

Taeyong feels a strange mix of anxiety, joy and vindication fill him at Taemin’s words. He was right. Taemin had been there for him. And more to the point, there are more people like them out there, that’s what Taemin means. That’s what he _has_ to mean. 

“Why me, though?” he asks, stubborn. 

Taemin smiles. “Why not you?” 

Taeyong drops his eyes, but says nothing. 

Taemin, at his side, sighs a little. “You’re young, Taeyong. It’s natural to screw up when you’re growing up. As long as you don’t let it define who you are, and who you want to be.” 

Taeyong looks up sharply. “How did you-” 

“It isn’t hard to guess,” Taemin shrugs. At his side, Taeyong sputters. “_Guess?_” 

Taemin laughs. “What, would you prefer if I’d gone over your life story?” 

Taeyong shudders. “Please don’t.” 

They walk onward, neither saying anything for a few minutes before Taemin breaks the silence. “You can’t keep fighting yourself too long, Taeyong. It isn’t healthy for anyone, especially not for you.” 

“I’m not fighting myself,” Taeyong retorts defensively. 

“Aren’t you?” 

Taeyong says nothing. 

“You’re doing alright for the moment, I suppose, keeping your head down,” Taemin continues, and stops walking, turning to look at Taeyong. “But you won’t be able to do it forever.” 

“Why not?” Taeyong asks, stung. He’s been trying his best. And maybe it’s not all glamour and drama like in the movies or whatever, but it’s fine. He’s _fine_. 

Taemin doesn’t say anything in response, but raises his hand, palm up; an invitation. His eyes are calm, patient, and Taeyong is raising his own hand to grasp Taemin’s before he even realizes his own decision. 

Taemin’s palm is soft, and that’s all Taeyong notices before all the cells in his body feels like they light up, all together, and his vision goes white. He doesn’t know how long it lasts - it could be an hour, or a minute, or a second, but when he comes back to himself, it’s still raining, and the clocktower at the intersection doesn’t even show that any time has passed. But both his hands are clasped on to Taemin’s in a desperate grip that’s all that’s keeping him from crumbling down on unsteady legs, and he’s breathing in sharp, uncontrolled gasps. 

“Steady,” he hears Taemin murmur in a far-away voice. “You’re good.” 

Taeyong wants to snap back, wants to ask what the hell Taemin just did to him, when he realizes that the strength is returning back to his limbs in a rush. A moment later, he blinks at the sudden change in himself. Taeyong feels more settled than he’s ever felt, feels so grounded that he almost doesn’t realize the absence of pain at first. He’s always had to keep himself tense, so as to keep himself _together_, and the sudden lack of tension in his body is almost as jarring as the lack of the headache he’d never realized he’d always carried around till he doesn’t have it anymore. 

He feels loose-limbed and almost weightless, and he looks blankly down at the surprisingly strong hand he’s still clutching on to. He makes himself let go of Taemin’s hand and immediately feels his stability waver a little. 

Well. He doesn’t know exactly what it is Taemin can do, but he clearly has a lot more control over himself than Taeyong does. 

“What…” he asks, voice weak and confused, and stumbles to a stop when he meets Taemin’s gaze. 

“You’re welcome,” Taemin says, as casually as he’s ever been. He quirks a smirk at Taeyong and raises his hand to ruffle Taeyong’s hair, and settles his cap back on properly. “Now, look me in the eye,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “and tell me again you’ll be fine going back to your life as it is.” 

Taeyong stares mutely back at him. 

He can’t. God help him, but he can’t. He knows what he’d told Taemin, not even a minute ago, and wonders how he could’ve been so blind. 

Some of that must show in his eyes, because Taemin huffs a laugh, shaking his head, and starts walking again. 

“Where are we going?” Taeyong finally asks after a long minute, when Taemin draws near a few old, neon-lit buildings. 

Taemin doesn’t reply till they walk to the entrance and he turns towards Taeyong. “This is you,” he says, indicating the door lit by cheap, flickering neon lights. 

“It is?” Taeyong looks doubtfully at the door. “What is it?”< 

Taemin brings out something from his pocket and offers it to Taeyong. 

“A movie ticket?” Taeyong says, baffled. There’s nothing else written on it, apart from the seat number. “I didn’t even know there was a cinema here.” 

“It’s old,” Taemin agrees. “Unused now. But it’ll do.” 

Taeyong blinks back at him. “For what?” 

Taemin’s gaze is serious, unreadable. “Some battles you have to win yourself, Taeyong.” 

Taeyong’s hand clenches around the ticket, and his heart beats faster. He knows what Taemin’s asking him to do. 

Taemin smiles faintly, and Taeyong feels Taemin’s gaze as almost a physical weight. “Good luck,” he murmurs, and turns away, walking back into the rain. Taeyong keeps staring till the slight figure is fully obscured by the heavy rain. 

He looks down at the ticket and closes his eyes. 

Can he do this? Face himself, his own doubts, fears, his uncertainty? Can he move forward? 

Taeyong glances back at where he’d seen Taemin last and bites his lips. 

More to the point, can he afford not to? 

Discard the one chance he knows will probably change his life? 

Taeyong knows it isn’t even a question. 

He takes a deep breath, and opens the door. 

\--- 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Taeyong trailer to me, shows that he's fighting himself. The Taeyong in the theater is looking upon himself, and clapping at his own decisions, which shows that he's proud of what he did. The stronger Taeyong that got up from where he was lying on the grass, shooting the Taeyong cowering on the floor, seemed like he was quite literally, shooting down whatever was dragging him down - his own ambivalence, doubts...
> 
> And at the end, he's using his ability without a problem, and both the Taeyongs in the theater, and the Taeyong in the film (what's happening in his mental state?) is clapping.
> 
> Taeyong mission: complete, says Taemin


	3. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten's just minding his own business, really. It's too bad the world just won't let him.

Ten is resting in his usual slump against the wall, eyes closed, when he first feels it.  
  
He thinks he’s imagining it at first, but then it happens again, and for longer. A subtle interruption that twangs among the never-ending harmony of light and colour, seeding a single shadow of emptiness that ripples outward; interfering just enough that he rouses from his meditative state in slow increments.  
  
Ten is startled to find himself irritated at whatever is causing this - he’d spent so long in here with only the vaguest tingle of feelings that it feels more than a little alien to experience a sudden mix of chaotic emotions. Entangled in between the irritation is spurts of cold; a clamminess that he struggles to remember as nervousness.  
  
The realization does not offer comfort, considering here was the one safe place Ten had picked as his final refuge to be free from just those emotions. His choice of happily ever-after, so to speak. Emphasis on the ever-after, maybe not so much on the happy part, but he’d supposed that he’d make do.  
  
Ten rises slowly, his thoughts slowly picking up in speed as he looks at the archway leading to the Room. It could be nothing; perhaps just a disturbance if the painting had been improperly moved or stored on the other side. Or maybe, as his most paranoid idea sprouts back out - it could be the start of decay. He’d never known anyone else who could do what he could; to not just create a completely separate dimension of space, but to also be able to stay there as long as he wanted. And when he’d decided, all that time ago, he’d known that in essence, he was going to dive right in into the unknown and hope for the best. The chances of some kind of rejection was minuscule, based on everything he knew about himself and his experiences, but still there.  
  
And so, he has to check, even though it could be nothing. Though even the thought of looking back into the real world makes his palms damp with sweat. But there’s nothing for it, he’ll have to at least take a quick peek. He takes a deep breath to steel himself, then walks firmly through the archway, only to stop cold.  
  
There’s someone standing in front of the frame.  
  
Which should be impossible. But there’s _someone standing in front of the frame_, their back to him, looking out into the darkness, and Ten doesn’t know what to do.  
  
He doesn’t know what to do, because random people stumbling in here was absolutely not in Ten’s wildest what-ifs, not ever, and considering that the person is in here with Ten, chances are this isn’t just any random person, either.  
  
Ten’s breathing gets faster and faster, and that’s when the figure turns around.  
  
It’s a man. A young man, maybe around Ten’s age, blond and fair. And then his pale eyes meet Ten’s, and that’s when Ten’s brain feels like it implodes. Messily. 

Ten knows what he’s seeing, which is what looks like a perfectly normal man, but at the same time different parts of his brain are shrieking as loudly as they can, and Ten can’t make head or tails of it but the one thing he knows is that he has to get the fuck away, because the last thing this guy is, is _normal_. And considering Ten’s levels of normalcy, that’s actually saying something. Ten is usually good at parsing out what he’s feeling versus what he’s getting, but this time it feels like he’s getting blindsided by a dozen contradicting things that each of his senses are insisting are true with the same degree of certainty.  
  
Ten stumbles back into a wall, hands grabbing blindly for support, his eyes shut tight and legs failing him.  
  
“Are you alright?”  
  
The voice is husky and soft on the surface, maybe even a little worried; but underlying it is a shadow of lingering time, an echo of elusive power that makes Ten feel the same disquiet he gets from throwing a stone into a deep crevasse, and never hearing it strike the ground.  
  
Through the haze in his brain, Ten hears footsteps coming closer, and panics. Ten slits his eyes open, but has to immediately close them when he sees the figure standing directly in front of him. Oh god, this close it’s so much worse, because it almost feels like Ten would be able to reach out and touch the almost tangible aura around the man. That is, he would if he wasn’t feeling so terrified from the sheer dormant power the man in front of him is emanating. His heartbeat feels like it’s beating double, triple-time, and he starts feeling lightheaded.  
  
“Stop,” he says, desperate. “Don’t- don’t come any closer,” Ten gasps out as he struggles to pull back all his senses before the guy does something crazy, like _touch_ him.  
  
But the man has stopped his advance, and actually backs away a little, frowning.  
  
“I’m not going to hurt you.”  
  
Ten shudders as he feels that odd echo again. It’s hard to even concentrate on the words, but if had a bit more control over himself, he’d have scoffed. Probably. But, if there’s anything Ten knows about himself, it’s that he’s vicious when cornered, and maybe if his tongue didn’t seem to be physically stuck to the roof of his mouth, he would have spat out something savagely offensive and then everything would’ve gone to hell in a handbasket.  
  
Which, maybe, would not be conducive to future living, and maybe it’s a good thing he’s so utterly wrecked, maybe this guy would take some pity on him _and go away_.  
  
Ten distantly realizes he’s hyperventilating.  
  
He hears a soft exclamation and his panic soars impossibly when his body collapses and his face tilts up without his control, his body moving like a puppet, eyes opening despite his own efforts, to lock right onto burning blue.  
  
Ten blinks and the world changes. And then the physical and mental panic cuts off like a knife, leaving the silence bleeding. He looks down.  
  
He’s standing on… nothing. There’s nothing around him. Just a darkness that doesn’t feel even like emptiness. He’s alone.  
  
Ten closes his eyes tight, takes what feels like a deep breath and notices how his physical reactions seem strangely distant. A pang of familiarity hits him and he relaxes despite himself. Another dimension, then.  
  
And as Ten himself had clearly not been in any kind of shape to do this, there’s only one possible explanation.  
  
He opens his eyes. This time, he is not alone.  
  
The man stands a few steps away from him, looking right at him.  
  
Weirdly, Ten isn’t scared or overwhelmed at all. Even stranger, he doesn’t feel _anything_. He looks at the man who’d sent him into a full-blown panic attack by basically just existing not even a few seconds ago, and the most he can feel is a dull interest.  
  
“Where are we?” he asks, after a long silence.  
  
The stranger answers readily. “We’re in a mental plane, linked to where we were before.” His presence is muted, voice calm, and without the oddly terrifying echo.  
  
Ten frowns. “A mental plane? So this is just our consciousness, then?”  
  
“You were hyperventilating.” He cocks his head. “I’m afraid this was the best idea I had at the time.”  
  
Ten nods slowly. There’s a pause. “It’s probably the best thing you could’ve done,” Ten agrees belatedly. He feels very calm, more than he’d felt in years, even more than what he’d felt when he was in the painting.  
  
“I’m afraid I might be influencing you somewhat,” the stranger offers, apologetic.  
  
Ten is curious. “Is it inadvertent?”  
  
The stranger smiles, but doesn’t answer. “It’s temporary,” he says, and breaks into an inopportune smile. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”  
  
Ten rather doubts that’s the case now, especially after the way he reacted. “I’m Ten,” Ten says instead, because he doesn’t know how else to respond. “But I’m guessing you already know that.” And then finally, the question at the forefront of his mind. “Who are you?  
  
The man bows. “My name is Taemin.”  
  
Ten furrows his brows. “I didn’t ask you what you were called.”  
  
The man - Taemin? - tilts his head. “That is who I am, however.”  
  
Ten isn’t ready to give up, “It isn’t just what you are, though, is it?”, and knows he’s surprised Taemin when something in him stills. There’s another extended moment of long, drawn-out silence.   
  
“Not entirely.” Taemin’s voice (single-toned and superficial and human and strangely, kind of incomplete) turns curious. “I’m surprised you noticed,” he admits, and Ten gets the feeling that it’s not all that common.  
  
Ten stares. “You’re kidding, right?” Ten knows that despite the strange dampening effect in this dimension, the disbelief in his tone is quite apparent. “The first time I looked at you, it felt like nonstop klaxons going on in my ears, and different ones inside my head.”  
  
Taemin stares for another long moment, and then laughs.  
  
“I should have known,” he says half to himself, palming his face, and then looks back at Ten. “You’ve spent so much time away from the real world, your dimensional and perception abilities must have burgeoned.”  
  
Ten looks down. “I can’t make head or tails of the outside world. Inside, though, everything makes sense. I can see and hear more and… I _know_ so much more.”  
  
Taemin hums. “An ability that allows you to sharpen yourself without distractions,” he trails off musingly. “You’d be able to do it in the real world too, eventually. But probably never as effectively as when you’re inside your own dimension.”  
  
Ten nods, because that was similar to what he’d thought as well. But more to the point… he fixes his eyes on Taemin, tries for uncompromising. “Do you have the same ability as I do?”  
  
Taemin quirks a half-smile. “Not exactly. One of the effects of my ability makes it possible to slide into yours, however.”  
  
Well, that answered absolutely nothing. Ten figures he’ll have to be more direct to get anywhere. “What are you?” he asks, as bluntly as he could.  
  
Taemin laughs. “Perhaps in time, I may even tell you.”  
  
  
  
  
Taemin doesn’t explain much about himself, but does apologize.  
  
“It’s been so very long since anyone could see more than what I’ve let them that I suppose I’ve been a little complacent. But I promise, I have no intentions of harming you.”  
  
Ten wants to pick apart so many pieces of that one sentence, and by Taemin’s quirked smile, he’s aware of what his half-truths are doing to Ten’s insatiable curiosity. Even in this strange world under Taemin’s control, however, Ten discovers that his self-preservation is still very healthy and present, even when Taemin wonders that now that Ten is somewhat calmer after the both of them are introduced to each other, could they go back to their physical bodies? Maintaining his focus on existing in two separate dimensions at the same time, with a traveler, isn’t something that he can do for extended periods of time, he explains.  
  
Ten gets the feeling that Taemin’s abilities, no matter how similar they may look at first glance to his own, are as different from his own steady stability that forms the basis of his skill, as black is to white.  
  
Before he assents, though, Ten has something to say. It’s unfortunate that he ends up stumbling and stuttering, but well, considering he doesn’t even know quite what he’s trying to ask for, he figures he can be forgiven.  
  
“When we get back,” he starts, hesitates. Then ploughs on, determined. “Could you… could you draw yourself back in a little? Or maybe more than a little?” He frowns. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, he supposes. “I honestly couldn’t even bear to look at you, you’re kind of a lot.”  
  
There’s a beat of silence, and then Taemin is laughing, a delighted peal that rings in the silence and echoes in Ten’s ear even as the surroundings dissolve around him in a blaze of swirling colour and they’re back in their own bodies, Ten slumped on the floor, and Taemin crouched over him, still laughing quietly, but pointedly not touching him.  
  
It’s a good thing Ten’s already pretty much collapsed down on the floor, because the sudden lassitude that crawls up his limbs would’ve had him staggering into an ungraceful fall anyway. He’s not panicking anymore, which is good, but the after-effects of his body and mind going from 0 to blasting past 100 in about two milliseconds is taking a toll.  
  
“Well, I guess I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling,” Taemin says, rueful. His voice is like it was in the mental plane, subdued to what feels like a single frequency, and his presence is thankfully, muted enough to pass as a regular human.  
  
Taemin sits up slightly, eyeing Ten as if to make sure of Ten’s continued existence, and then walks over to sit nearby, leaning back with his head resting against the wall as he sighs.  
  
“This is all rather a bit too much excitement for an introduction, don’t you think?” he says, like he wasn’t the one that barged into Ten’s private space, nearly giving him a heart attack in the process. Ten is still rather busy trying to get his breathing and body under control, or he’d have snapped out something he’d have regretted.  
  
Taemin doesn’t stay long after. Ten finds that he’s glad, because he sorely needs some time alone to come to terms with the complete upending of his world view.  
  
Taemin smiles sunnily and says “See you again,” before he leaves, and Ten knows he didn’t imagine the firm promise in those words, and despairs a little.

  
*  


He’s right. Taemin does keep coming in rather frequently, and thankfully the visits are much less exciting than their unforgettable first meeting. There are some awkward moments, mostly on Ten’s part when he’s trying to figure Taemin out. Taemin mostly lets him, though always with tolerant amusement. They do end up getting into rather lively discussions, however.

And apparently, while hijacking one’s consciousness and mental planes is one thing, it turns out Taemin isn’t able to create and use separate dimensions in space-time as Ten is. Ten boggles at this info.  
  
“But you came into mine!”  
  
“Well, that was an already existing creation of yours. Besides, I was polite. I even knocked.”  
  
“Knocked?” Ten asks, bemused, and suddenly remembers the strange, shadow-like distortion that had roused him from his meditative lethargy on the first day.  
  
“Wait, do you mean that weird spirally thing? That, that was a knock?”  
  
“Well, I wanted to catch your attention. Sneaking in is all well and good, but I’ve always felt some manners go a long way.”  
  
“Sneaking in?” Ten splutters. “Here? _You?_”  
  
Taemin blinks, then looks honestly amused. “Did you think I couldn’t?”  
  
Ten opens his mouth to retort, then his mind flashes back to what Taemin actually is… and what he isn’t. His heart stutters in realization, and he closes his mouth against the words.  
  
Taemin grins at him, knowing, then changes the subject. 

  
*

Taemin also ends up chatting about the others he’s been keeping an eye on.

“You mean, stalking.”

“I mean, I’m keeping an eye on them. You. Who even knows all the trouble all of you would get to.”

“What trouble? I was here, staying out of the way!”

“Yes, and you’d probably die of boredom inside this place and then who even knows what would happen without your energy stabilizing everything. Dimensional tears are such a bitch to deal with.”

“A _what_?”

And through no fault of Ten’s, he ends up getting familiar with almost all of Taemin’s little group of… of stalkees. Mostly through Taemin’s annoyed complaints about them, through he feels the need to defend them for some strange reason. Probably because, in Taemin’s mind, Ten’s clearly included in with them. 

He senses Taemin’s satisfaction when things fall into place, his joy when one of their group steps up. Those are the days he ends up looking forward to the most. It’s not because of the way Taemin’s eyes get soft and smiling, absolutely not. Not entirely, anyway.

Ten surprises himself by asking about updates one day, during a lull in the conversation. 

Taemin looks back at him with that damned smirk. “Do you want to just hear my stories about them, or to meet them?”

  
*

Ten is upset. Ten feels like has the _right_ to be upset.

He’s known what he’s giving up, what he was in for when he decided to stay in his created dimension permanently. And he was fine with it. He was _fine_. 

The disappointments, the regrets, the losses… it had been too much to handle, and he’d known he couldn’t. He was alone, and he was absolutely incapable of dealing with any of it anymore, and he’d turned his back, and he’d been _glad_. That his emotions, which once seemed so overwhelming that they almost seemed to coalesce into physical presences, had dulled, had muted once he was in his own element. __

_ _Until Taemin had come. _ _

_ _Taemin, who, he could now see, had coaxed him with bits and bobs of the real world, of his proteges, until Ten’s own damnable curiosity had taken over. Until he’d itched to know about the others, about Taemin’s own actions, until he all but burned to know about Taemin himself. He hates himself for it, a little, but try as he might, he can’t hate Taemin for it. Not even a little. And the knowledge burns in his chest._ _

_ _And that doesn’t mean he’ll give in quietly, either._ _

_ _“I can’t, hyung!” he attempts, a last desperate try. “There’s nothing out there for me. No-one. I won’t be able to-”_ _

_ _“You won’t be alone, Ten. Ever,” Taemin says, standing in front of the frame, as he had so long ago, with his ever present umbrella, and his voice gentles when he curls his palm over Ten’s shoulder. “This, I can promise.”_ _

_ _Ten looks at Taemin, at the inscrutable blue of his eyes, and reaches up to curl his own palms over Taemin’s, and for the first time in Taemin’s presence, doesn’t try to hide how much the contact affects him, and knows that Taemin knows. Has probably known, even before Ten himself realized. _ _

_ _His heart is beating, staccato, and it’s difficult to get the words out, but he manages. “Hyung. And was this- were you encouraging this, encouraging me… because then I would be easier to manipulate?”_ _

_ _Taemin is so still, like an unmoving pool of deep water, and Ten can’t seem to breathe. _ _

_ _“If I said no, Ten… would you believe me?”_ _

_ _   
*_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the trailers, Ten is both at peace and fighting himself, visualizing himself in and out of the painting. And at the end of the teaser, he's outside; looking at two figures that are in the painting.


	4. Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look, Mark is trying to figure himself out, like everyone else, and maybe he's needed some external help. But he's still younger than most when he learns that he needs to reach back when opportunity quite literally, knocks on his door.

Ever since Mark has been placed in the… facility, he’s only ever had one frequent visitor. Some of his family members had a couple of visits in the beginning, but they’d petered off pretty fast. He gets the odd Christmas card from them, but he’d chosen not to keep any of those, or even any photos up in his room, either. And after this long, he sometimes finds he can’t quite remember the exact features of his mom, his dad, or any of his siblings. 

He knows, intellectually, how his family is. He’d been a solitary child, and had never known anything different. Intellectually, he realizes everyone in his family have many demands on their time, and as overachieving as his siblings turned out to be, they’re still just chips off the old block. And with that recognition of his family dynamic, Mark doesn’t blame any of them for not caring enough to visit the family disappointment. 

Well. He _tries_ not to blame them, at least. 

Which is honestly so much further than he’d ever thought he’d come, when he was first moved here. No-one knows better than him how useless all the logic and reason in the world is when your heart is overwhelmed by emotion, be it justified or not.

Which is why he’s remained in here, in this sterile place where at least all his basic needs are met. He supposes his family hasn’t spared any expense when they decided to quietly move him here - no matter their reasons, they’ve tried to give him a good chance to heal, even if it’s in to this out of the way ‘rest home’. Even if his definition of healing differs quite a bit from theirs. For them, this is ideal; private and high class and nothing to be ashamed about, except maybe what they put in there.

Mark takes a deep breath and attempts to dissociate himself from the old bitterness. Well, he supposes at least all the hours of ranting and raving at the shrink hasn’t been in vain. It’s easier, after all these years. The burning spike of betrayal that used to churn in him is now faded, like an old scar of an injury. He knows it’s there, he knows he might never quite get rid of it, and still feels it now and then unexpectedly. But he’s found that the expectation of pain makes its existence more bearable, somehow.

And looking at the box that’s rests innocently in the corner of his room, he knows who else to thank, too.

Not that he will ever, say the words to that jerk’s face - he shudders internally at the delighted smile and endless teasing he’d doubtlessly have to endure afterwards - but no matter what anyone else has labeled him, he’s always been self-aware enough to know exactly where his limits are. Even if it’s taken him time and effort to actually practise it with any sort of effect.

Mark doesn’t remember when he first met Taemin, but suspects it might have been in his earlier days; when he sometimes wasn’t sure which way was up, whether it was morning or night, whether he wanted to scream or laugh. His world has always been painted in absolutes, and he’s not sure what he’d have tagged Taemin as - enemy or ally.

Honestly sometimes, he’s still not sure. But Taemin is someone that Mark recognizes as being composed almost entirely of grays, and well, Mark is a pretty black-and-white person, himself. And even so, he’s thankful Taemin never seemed to hold the bad times against him.

Because he knows is that Taemin has visited him right from the start - from the time that Mark has first been in here, through to when he’d improved enough to recognizably start coming back to himself; to now, when he’s been able to figure himself out. Taemin has always been there, peering in at him through the little window into his padded room as his only regular visitor at first, chattering at him about inconsequential things like Mark had actually been capable of responding. When Mark had graduated (read: calmed down enough) to get his own little normal room like all the other normal patients, Taemin had waltzed in without a care and demanded wine.

Mark had stared, slack-jawed, before spluttering about how he was underage and the orderlies were definitely not going to serve anything alcoholic, especially here, and most especially in Mark’s presence.

Shows what he knows, though. He still remembers Taemin’s glinting eyes as he smirked at Mark over his wineglass. Mark peeks at the glass sitting inconsequently in the corner - he’d kept it, for some strange reason, after Taemin had left. He honestly doesn’t can’t figure out how Taemin did it, when he knows how strict this place is. He suspects mind control, but doesn’t really want to ask in case it might be true.

Ignorance, when it comes to Taemin, might actually be a good plan. Can’t quite stretch it to bliss, but it’s certainly something closer to the positive than the negative, and that’s good enough, in Mark’s book. He’s young, still. Not that he’d ever be old enough to figure out Taemin, but then again, no matter what his family thought, he’s never been suicidal. 

Taemin’s pretty cool, but Mark has always known danger when he sees it. 

His eyes fall on the box again.

This is the first time Taemin’s sent anything to him. He doesn’t know how he knows it’s from Taemin. There’s absolutely nothing written on it but Mark’s name and address. But for the first time, Taemin has missed his visit. Taemin’s visits have always been random, never on any schedule that Mark could figure out. Despite that, he knows in his heart that Taemin will never come to visit him here again. 

Mark had known since Taemin’s last visit, though he’s waited to confirm. To make sure. Even after what Taemin had hinted at him in their last conversation about what he’d been doing, never quite coming out and saying it. Mark knows his instincts are good, now, and he absently wonders if it’s anticipation or a lack of self-confidence that makes his heart race and his palms sweat when he contemplates what he’s about to do.

If it’s the latter, well, maybe he can make do with Taemin’s confidence in him. 

Mark takes a deep breath and reaches for the box. His eyes fall on the little mirror and he freezes when he meets the reflection of his own eyes. He takes a deep breath and he feels his heart slowing down, his focus sharpening when he reaches inside himself.

After all, if he’s actually doing this; if going to get out of here, he needs to make the mirror big enough to get himself through.

_This time, hyung, I’ll find you._

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Mark's trailer, my interpretation is that he's quite literally coming out of his shell and finding himself and figuring out who he is, and who he isn't, and understanding himself better as he metaphorically ascends. And maybe he has a size-changing ability when it comes to objects, too, but that's just a thing he does.


	5. Lucas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucas knows what he wants. Stability. Success; financial, and personal. And he's fine with giving his all to get it, even if the world passes by him. The problem is, what happens when what he wants starts to change?

“Hey Lucas, that cobalt mining stock that you were looking at, bossman’s asking for the spread.”

Lucas blinks and stares at the man in front of him. Just for a moment, his vision seems to swim strangely, multicoloured hues flashing across and warping the world around him. Another blink and everything snaps back to normal. At which point he realizes that he has absolutely no idea what was just said to him.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “could you repeat that?”

His coworker, who he’s been exchanging politely meaningless conversation at the coffee machine at 6am every day, but whose name completely eludes him at the moment, repeats the sentence and looks at him expectantly.

Lucas tries to focus. “Thanks, man,” he says, and gets up from his chair starting to walk to the door.

Coffee Guy (Lucas is just gonna call him that in his head for now) calls his name behind him. Lucas stops and looks back at him quizzically. “You’ll need your file, right,” he says, peering at Lucas, eyebrows raised. “He’s asking for the full details, like always.”

Lucas stares blankly for a moment, then groans a little, dragging a palm down his face as he hurrries back to his desk. Coffee Guy’s forehead is furrowed as he watches Lucas bustling about. “Hey man, you okay? You’ve been a bit distracted lately.”

Lucas plasters a smile on his face. “Of course I’m good. It’s just been one of those weeks, you know.”

As expected, that meaningless platitude is enough to satisfy Coffee Guy, who nods at him with an understanding smile and lets him hurry away.

Lucas loses the smile the moment he’s out in the hallway. 

_Think you’ll get a better bonus than last year with this one, Lucas?_

He grits his teeth. That fucking voice. It’s been months now that he’d started hearing it, and he’d honestly wonder if he’s going insane; hearing voices in his head, if that wasn’t already a thing that’s been happening to him since puberty.

_Shouldn’t be a problem for the genius stockbroker, though, should it?_

Lucas detects a very obvious thread of sarcasm in there. If only he could talk back at whoever was talking to him, displaying a rather worrying amount of knowledge, he’d have more than a few choice words to say.

_Unless you’ve been distracted by the steamy tales of Natalie and her unfortunate harem of heartbroken boyfriends this week, of course._

Despite himself, Lucas is distracted. No matter what this asshole’s been needling him about, he doesn’t listen to _all_ the gossip flying around. Though, he can’t help wondering; is he talking about the Natalie who sits by the door, or the one in the other office?

_The one by the door. Honestly, Lucas, why would I pay attention to anyone who doesn’t work with you?_

Lucas would really like to know what the fuck this guy (the mental voice is most definitely a guy, so he feels no guilt at wanting to smash his fist on the dude’s face) wants, paying attention to him in the first place. And then he stops dead.

Because the voice has just responded to his thoughts, hadn’t it? Which means the dude isn’t just projecting his voice into Lucas’ ears like he’d thought, he was actually reading his mind? What the fuck?

His stomach feels like it’s dropping to the floor, an uneasy shiver racking his spine. But before he can work himself into a nervous fit, the voice almost seems to huff. Inside his head. Lucas, not for the first time, is hit with the absolute strangeness of his current situation. From when his hearing started sharpening in his early teens and he discovered that he could hear so many things across increasingly vast distances, he’s always _overheard_ things inadvertently. No-one’s ever realized his abilities, which was something he’d done his best to hide, and until now, he’d figured he’d done quite well in that regard.

He’s not really counted on anyone actually speaking to him, deliberately. It’s distinctly unsettling.

_Oh, calm down. I’m actually taking a lot of trouble with this, it’s not like any of this is easy._ There is a definite note of irritation among the grumbling, and Lucas feels a spike of satisfaction at that. 

_Besides,_ the voice continues, _that was all you, not me._

Lucas frowns. All him? What?

_I should congratulate you on the achievement._ And now the voice sounds admiring. Lucas doesn’t really know how to take it.

_Honing in on a specific mental frequency and bouncing back new thoughts, not just reflections right back to the source instinctively… it’s ambitious. But then, that shouldn’t be surprising if it’s you._

Lucas finds it so weird that he can sense the smile in a mental voice, even as he sternly tells himself not to be _flattered_ that his stalker is seemingly complimenting him. 

_Interesting that anger is inversely proportional to your ability to harness your power, though…_

The voice trails off like Lucas is a damned science experiment that caught its interest, and Lucas starts fuming yet again. 

_Maybe you should get moving, though?_

Lucas blinks when the voice cuts through his mental tirade and he curses as he hurries to the end of the hall, towards the elevators. Even more than its existence, and general annoyance, the most irritating thing about the disembodied voice that’s haunting him, is that how it’s _always right_.

-

_Hey, Lucas, look around._

Lucas had been working in peace for days, now, without the annoying voice poking at him. He should’ve known it was too nice to last. He sighs, then looks up. He’s learned it’s better to yield gracefully with small things like this. As expected, he’s mostly alone, except for a guy in the far corner who seems to be sleeping at his desk.

_There_, he responds back absently; _now leave me alone._

It had taken him a few months or so to get the hang of it, and more than a few frustrated back-and-forths with the voice, but now he can respond back in the same way he’d instinctively done at first. His own satisfaction surprises him. It’s taken time, but they’d eventually settled in an unusual sort of fellowship;, the other even helped him with figuring out certain tricky details with his power. 

In fact, he’s spent more time off work lately than he’d ever done before. He’d learned that even just walking around aimlessly, or sitting in the park relaxes him enough that working on his abilities become far easier. He’d been far spottier with his interactions at first, his mental aim cutting off and on like bad wi-fi when all he wanted to do was scream out his frustrations at the guy, but now that his temper and his mind has both settled into a mostly-peaceful acceptance of the odd company, his abilities come far easier. Lucas can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it, unconventional as it all is.

It’s even up to the point that he can’t quite seem to get the same satisfaction he used to get from his accomplishments at work. A part of his mind knows he’s in denial, but the bigger part is insisting on staying the career course, stay set at his goals for his future, so he could succeed and claw himself up in the world. He has responsibilities, even if they’re mostly ones he’s put on himself.

_If you start for home now, you could meet Sun on his walk._

Lucas freezes. Sun, the oversized golden retriever that his owner, Jihoon, takes on his walk around the park, has proved to be one of Lucas’ biggest weaknesses. And something that the voice clearly knows to leverage.

_It’s been weeks, hasn’t it? I’m sure he misses you._

Lucas is torn. On one hand, Lucas really _has_ missed the exuberance of the puppy, and how he’s always so joyful at seeing Lucas, ever since that first day when Lucas had seen him. At first, he’d just been meditating and people-watching, absently bantering with the voice, when he’d noticed the gorgeous dog being walked in his direction. But something in the puppy’s breaths and low whine had had him frowning, and concerned him enough to make him sit up and take notice. 

He’d sensed the unconscious way the puppy had been compensating one of its legs by the way Sun had been breathing while walking, and introduced himself when they’d gotten near the bench he’d been sitting on. He’d spent almost an hour just playing with Sun while Jihoon rested and by the end, had somehow persuaded Jihoon to have Sun’s leg checked out. The next time he’d seen them, Jihoon had told Lucas all about the joint issue that had been at its initial stages in Sun’s foreleg, all the while Sun had been capering joyfully around him, even as Lucas had laughingly declined Jihoon’s proclamations of Lucas being a dog whisperer.

Lucas sighs, already knowing what his decision is going to be. Damn it, but the voice really doesn’t play fair. 

He doesn’t stop his annoyed grumbles even as he packs up for the day. They banter the entire way to the park, and then to his way home, even suggestions to what Lucas should buy for dinner. Lucas will never admit it, but it all makes the ache of loneliness get a little easier. He’s getting better at feeling emotions through the link, and he senses an underlying feeling of honest affection even when the voice is needling him, which reminds him of his friends back home rather a lot. It all combines to make him drop his defenses more and more, despite himself.

-

This all continues until the day comes that Lucas walks into work, and physically cannot make himself walk into his office. 

_Fuck_, he thinks, and by now it’s second nature to separate his own thoughts. So much for fucking ambition, he thinks, despairing. Look where that got him.

Some of the hopelessness must have leaked out somehow, because he hears a surprised intake of breath, and a long silence after.

_It’s not your fault,_ he hears, and hates the fine threads of understanding laced in the other’s voice. _You’ve always needed a purpose in life._

_And I suppose you’ll tell me what it is, now that I’ve lost my original one?_ he retorts, bitter. Lucas has vowed not to let it affect him from the very first time he’s started hearing someone else’s voice projected directly to his ears, but here he stands, anyway. 

_That choice is something I’ll never take from you, Lucas._ The voice is gentle, but no less firm for it. _But if you’d like to try to find it, then yes. I can help._

Lucas sighs, closing his eyes. _You’ve been playing me right from the start, haven’t you?_

He hears a chuckle that feels like it’s right behind him, but he doesn’t look back. By now he knows most of the tricks. _Is it considered manipulation if you’ve known the entire time?_

Well. He’s not in the mood for philosophical discussions at the moment, especially when the advantage is on the other side. Besides, he’s always been a man of action. 

_Tell me where to meet you,_ he demands. 

_Take the elevator to the 99th floor,_ comes the immediate response.

Lucas blinks. _I thought those floors were closed for renovation?_ he asks, confused. He remembers the email clearly.

_They are. But it’ll be easier to have Mark and Ten get you from there._

Lucas blinks. Mark and Ten? His confusion doesn’t dissipate, even as he heads into the elevator.

_They’re adorable._ Lucas knows he’s not imagining the fondness in the other’s voice. 

_You’ll like them,_ the voice assures, calm as still water in comparison to Lucas, who feels like he’s about to vibrate from nervousness. _Just trust them._

Lucas hums wordlessly and stays quiet, everyone in the elevator gradually stepping out; the doors repeatedly opening and closing, until he’s the only one remaining, still heading up. He takes a deep breath when the doors open on the final floor with a soft chime, and steps out. The lights flicker on slowly, and his heart beats faster as he walks in. He’s been in the offices on this floor before, and somehow, he doesn’t think the official renovations included lining the entire hallway with mirrors.

A sudden thought strikes him, and he calls out mentally. But then he sees two silhouettes in the shadows deep inside the mirrors and stops dead at the impossible reflections that make the world seem like it’s at the eye of a storm, a false calm even as it’s at the centre of everything. 

_Hey,_ he tries again, his eyes fixed on the subtle ripples in the mirror, trying his best to get his anxiety under control. _I just thought of something._ He hears a questioning hum in response.

_You’ve never told me your name._

There’s a sudden pause, then a surprised hiccup of laughter that somehow makes his nerves lessen. 

Lucas supposes introductions are not really a priority when you were the only two people to communicate like they could. At first, he’d been too mad and too scared, and then, he’d just… forgotten to ask. It hadn’t mattered. But now….

He hears a huff of amusement, and figures the other’s thoughts probably run in a similar direction.

_Taemin,_ he hears, finally. 

_It’s Taemin._

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucas' trailer I find to be more literal than some of the others - he's in a business environment, with the sense of humanity passing by. But there's a focus on his hearing, and he keeps looking up at fans, like he's looking at displaced air. Then there's Taemin with an amplitude machine, which is also sound-related. The background music changes to something a little more hopeful, but still mysterious when he steps into the room full of mirrors to where we are shown a less strait-laced version of himself...


End file.
